


Two Parties

by notabadday



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notabadday/pseuds/notabadday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Simmons aren't really party people.</p>
<p>  <i>"Come on, it'll be fun. I'm volunteering myself for foolish dancing. Besides, you asked me to be your prom date and, as such, this is one of your duties,” she says firmly, placing her cup and her clutch bag down to prove her resolve. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Parties

**Author's Note:**

> The first part takes place at the end of academy era Fitzsimmons and the second part takes place quite some time later. Enjoy.
> 
> In case of any confusion: sausage rolls are a British party buffet staple that I think Americans might refer to as pigs in blankets. For the most part, though, I don't think they're a big deal in the States. They're amazing.

_One_.

 

"No sausage rolls," Fitz mutters bitterly under his breath. "Bloody typical really. I made a formal request. I sent them a pretty foolproof recipe, and still, _nothing_."

 "Fitz?" Jemma only catches the tail end of his private rant as she absently scans the party. "Are you complaining? I said no complaining."

 "Wouldn't dare," he replies dryly.

 "Good. I came out to have a good time, and you aren't allowed to put a dampener on it. Look at you. You look like a grumpy puppy, Fitz," Jemma teases.

 "You said I look handsome, Simmons," he reminds her, bordering on petulance as he clings a little desperately to the compliment she so casually gifted him earlier that evening.

 "Grumpy and handsome are not mutually exclusive. Though the handsome is waning now that you're wearing such a pathetic expression."

 "Well, I take back what I said as well then." Fitz is playful now, placated by her smile.

 "You didn't say anything,” Jemma points out with pleasure as she moves to get herself a drink. “You just sort of stuttered hopelessly for a minute."

 "I take it back, nevertheless." But his message is undermined by his instinct to follow her over to the drinks table, obediently holding her cup for her as she pours orange juice into it.

 Jemma takes a big sip before replying: "You need to lighten up. Maybe a dance would-"

 "No!"

 "Fitz!"

 "No! I am not-"

 "You'll have fun!" she assures him, laughing to disguise her own doubts.

 "-dancing with you like an idiot. There are ops people here. We'd look ridiculous!" he insists, over-pronouncing the last word as though to emphasise his point.

 "We wouldn't look-"

 "We would. _I_ would look ridiculous. Have you seen me dance, Simmons? It's a mistake. And you'd regret it, you honestly... you would."

 "I wouldn't regret it," she assures him rather more calmly, before repeating herself just a little too quietly for his ears to catch it over the noise of music and conversation: "I wouldn't regret it."

 "I don't want to make a fool of the both of us," Fitz admits, her pleas wearing away at him.

 "Come on, it'll be fun. I'm volunteering myself for foolish dancing. Besides, you asked me to be your prom date and, as such, this is one of your duties,” she says firmly, placing her cup and her clutch bag down to prove her resolve. 

 "Yeah?"

 "Yeah," she replies, her smile broadening to the width of her face.

 "Just one dance, though."

 "We'll see."

 It’s three songs before his nerves get the better of him. He apologizes earnestly to Jemma, forced to yell his excuses over the music, before dashing off. She thinks about staying. She'd been the one who’d pushed for them to go. She thought it would be fun to celebrate the end of the year with their classmates. Now that she’s stood amongst them on the dancefloor, she is struck by how detached she feels from the rest of them. Perhaps if she hadn't spent all of her time with Fitz...

 With Fitz gone, it isn’t so fun anymore. There are acquaintances she's made over the months – kind people, a few who are almost as intelligent as she and Fitz – who say hello as they pass by. No one lingers for a chat. As soon as Fitz disappears from sight, she misses him.

 She weaves awkwardly between couples gyrating against each other and students who have drunk too much to dance with any spatial awareness, desperately trying to find a way out of the thick crowd. As soon as she manages to forge a path for herself and come out the other side, she is greeted with the sight of Fitz – still there. He’s standing beside her half-full cup and the bag she’d ditched, guarding both.

 "You're still here?"

 Both of his eyebrows rise ever so slightly. "I wasn't going to abandon you, Simmons."

 " _Oh_.” Jemma conceals the smile that this prompts; she looks to the floor, feeling a little vulnerable. After a beat, she glances back up at him and watches him scan the party for any friends they might have made in their time at the academy. When his attention refocuses on her, Jemma assumes he’s come to the same conclusion as she has. “Shall we get out of here?”

 He looks relieved. “Are you sure you don’t wanna-”

 “I’m sure,” she says, already walking back towards Fitz’s dorm. “Let’s go back to yours and get the Doctor Who box set out.”

 “Which season do you want?” Fitz asks the back of her.

 “Oh, I get to pick?”

 She turns around to see him nod.

 “What a rare honour,” she says dramatically, with her hand on her chest, before eagerly adding, “Season 2, Season 2, Season 2, Season 2…”

 “You’re very predictable.”

 “You love that about me.”

 “Okay,” he replies, laughing it off.

 She is too oblivious to pay it any attention, distracted by thoughts of what episode they should begin with and whether he’ll get irritable if she ‘accidentally’ falls asleep in his bed. (He will. But only as a pretence.)

 As soon as they are back in Fitz’s dorm, Jemma throws her bag down onto his half-made bed, collapsing next to it before impatiently pulling off her heels and throwing them far, far away from her. Fitz watches for a minute, letting her do her thing, confused by whatever her thing is because heels are hardly an every day occurrence for Jemma Simmons. After a moment of total bemusement, Fitz finds a spot the other side of her little bag and sits down.

 As he attempts to settle comfortably, he feels something uncomfortable beneath him and immediately stands back up. It’s a wayward sausage roll, now separated from its top layer of flaky puff pastry.

 “Oh my god.”

 Jemma turns around. “Oh!”

 “What the-”

 “I forgot to tell you!”

 “What?”

 “I saw they had sausage rolls and I was worried you wouldn’t get any so I packed a bunch into my bag.” She picks her bag up and holds it open, letting sausage rolls spill out in front of him. “I would have taken more but you can only fit so much into this clutch.”

 His mouth hangs open for a beat. “You stole the sausage rolls?”

 “Yes,” she answers with a little shrug. “Didn’t want them wasted on the boys from ops.”

 He takes an impatient bite out of one, making over-the-top noises to indicate his appreciation. As soon as he’s finished off the first one, another soon follows. With his hand covering his mouth, he gushes enthusiastically: “My hero!”

 “So easily pleased.”

 

 ***

 

_Two_.

 

"You stole the sausage rolls?!" Fitz gleefully exclaims as Jemma drops a little bag filled with pastry goods onto their rose petal-covered bed. He is laying across it already, his shirt untucked with the knot of his tie loose.

 "Tradition's a tradition," she replies with a twinkle in her eye.

 "It's hardly stealing when we paid for them - and everything else on the menu, for that matter!"

 She shakes her head dismissively, insisting: “Hey, it still counts. Don’t quibble over the details, Fitz.”

 " _Fitzsimmons_ now.”

 “I’m not calling you that,” she says, laughing off the notion.

 “I thought the tradition was surnames.”

 “No, the tradition is that I call you ‘Fitz’. And, much as I appreciate the reminder,” she playfully waves her ring finger at him for emphasis, “I will be sticking with Fitz. Think of it as an abbreviation of Fitzsimmons.”

 He nods contently, a mystified expression emerging on his face. The whole conversation seems utterly surreal. Everything that’s happening feels like a dream.

 Fitz watches as Jemma delicately takes out her stud earrings, placing them neatly on her vanity table with only the faintest tap of silver against the glass of the table. She then unlatches the clasp of her modest tennis bracelet with ease, laying it down beside the rest of her jewellery, before pausing to admire the rings on her hand. She pulls them both off and then immediately slides them back on the opposite way around. Those stay on. She has her back to Fitz so he misses the smile that escapes her lips as she brushes her forefinger over the silver band.

 Lazing across the bed, Fitz reaches absently to grab one of his beloved savory treats as he watches Jemma busy herself around their room, a short white train dragging behind her. When she turns around, with loose curls framing her face and the profile of that body-hugging, low-back dress, he’s awestruck for a while – long enough that she notices, blushes, searches her mind for a distraction from his intense gaze. After a beat, she gestures to the snacks he’s eating and asks, “Enjoying those?”

 “Mmm.” It takes him a minute to refocus, to find his cool. It’s another minute before he realizes he doesn’t have to be cool. "I ever tell you I love you?"

 "Yes, you did. Earlier, in fact. In front of all our friends and family. It was quite lovely.” She crinkles her nose.

 Fitz is smiling blissfully at her; it’s an unusually untroubled expression for Fitz. He is a warm sight and she can’t keep away, walking back over to him and adding a little strut for his entertainment. Jemma moves up to the bed, placing herself between his legs where they hang down, and reaches out to take his hand. He sits up a little to rest his head against her chest, wrapping his arms around her waist.

 Interrupting a comfortable silence, Jemma suddenly asks, “Do you think we should have stayed longer at the party?”

 Fitz shrugs. “The party was doing fine without us. I think I saw more of Coulson and May dancing together than I really needed to, if I’m being honest.”

 Recoiling at the memory, Jemma accepts his argument. 

He can tell she’s not entirely relaxed about it still, and adds: “It’s _our_ day. I’m happiest here, alone, with you.”

 “Me too,” she says softly, brushing her hands through his hair.

 “The best bit of any party, I always say, is the bit when we sneak off and binge on food you’ve stolen.”

 “It’s my skill,” Jemma affirms. “I hope you’re not just with me for the snacks.”

 “Your brain and your snacks. Or more accurately, communal snacks that you have pilfered.”

 “And I will pilfer sausage rolls for you, Fitz, as long as we both shall live.”

 Fitz lifts his head and she moves her palm to his cheek, holding him there so that she can lower her lips to his. Jemma leans down a little further, turning what at first seemed like a peck into something considerably more passionate.

 Caught up in their kiss, he shifts his position to lower her onto their bed and they switch positions. As Jemma reaches the bed, she feels something press against her back that somewhat impedes the comfort of their pima cotton sheets. She bursts out laughing and Fitz looks totally thrown by it until she pulls a sausage roll out from underneath her. He moves to brush the others away, feeling a sudden sense of urgency in his romantic efforts, but she stops him. “Don’t waste them.”

 He starts laughing with her, tickled by her insistence. They begin frantically gathering all of the loose pastries in their hands, putting them out of the way on Fitz’s nightstand.

 “Have we got them all?”

 “Yeah,” Jemma says, brushing a flake of pastry off the bed along with a few loose rose petals. “You better appreciate the rest of those later. I went to a lot of effort.”

 “I promise I will. _Afterwards_.”

 “Oh, _afterwards_? After what exactly?”

 Fitz teasingly raises an eyebrow, but she can see he is going to soften and retreat if she gives him too long to question himself.

 Jemma moves to kiss him once again, deepening the kiss immediately and holding the back of his head to pull him in close. His hand lingers on her bare shoulder. The cool touch of his silver band against her skin sends a shiver down her spine.

 She’s soon warm again, caught up between Fitz and the soft cotton sheets.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is always much appreciated.


End file.
